


Part 34: Brian

by oiuytrewq36



Series: Let's Hear It for the Boy [8]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiuytrewq36/pseuds/oiuytrewq36
Summary: “You-” he says, and stops. I wait. “What happened to the freak-out? The shouting damnation of the aging process? The drugs, the tricks, the impulse car purchases?”I smirk. “I didn’t think getting smashed on the morning of your big day would be especially conducive to me having access to your ass post-opening.”
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: Let's Hear It for the Boy [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928482
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Part 34: Brian

Justin notices on the evening of our third night in Paris. I don’t see it coming, but it happens right after some truly sensational sex, so I don’t really think anyone can blame me.

He’s walking on air after the opening, high on well-earned adoration, and when we leave the gallery at well past midnight, we find the nearest club and dance until they close. He gropes me in the cab, makes out with me in the elevator, and very nearly blows me in the hallway when I’m too slow to find my keycard.

We stumble into the room, kissing and laughing, one of his hands down the front of my pants, and I kick the door shut and fall with him onto the bed. It’s not long before he’s pushing me flat on my back and sitting down on my dick, leaning forward to kiss me hard and messy while he fucks himself - and me - into a series of delirious orgasms.

He goes limp on top of me when we’re finished, and I hold his sweaty pliant body, waiting to let sleep take us with my soft cock still inside him.

Justin is stroking my hair and printing lethargic kisses on my forehead when he stops.

I look up at him to see him frowning, reddened lips pursed.

“Everything okay?”

He blinks once, slowly. “Uh- yeah.”

“You don’t sound very sure.

Justin sighs. “You- um- promise not to flip out, okay?”

Ah. Some idea of what he’s about to say already in my mind, I say, “Okay.”

He brushes a few fingers across my left temple. Definitely what I think it is, then. “You, uh, you have a few gray hairs. Right here.”

I put my hand over his and lift it gently from my head. “Yeah, I know.”

He stares at me. “You _know_?”

“I noticed this morning.”

“You-” he says, and stops. I wait. “What happened to the freak-out? The shouting damnation of the aging process? The drugs, the tricks, the impulse car purchases?”

I smirk. “I didn’t think getting smashed on the morning of your big day would be especially conducive to me having access to your ass post-opening.”

He’s still frowning, and I know what he’s worrying about, so I put a hand on his arm. “Listen, I’m not getting- complacent, or whatever. I’m still me, just a slightly older version of me. Sure, I still wish I was the perfect specimen I was a few decades ago” - he snorts - “but this is my body now, and hair dye is for dweebs, so what choice do I have?”

Justin snuggles down to my chest, worries apparently assuaged for the moment. “It’s just very, uh, mature of you,” he says, smiling a little. I slap him on the ass for that, and he laughs, and things feel normal again.

***

But Justin is right, as usual, and when I get back to New York, a week ahead of him, I start spending just a little too much time with my own thoughts and far too much time looking in the mirror. I notice all the little markers of age, the wrinkles, the new gray hairs, each thing that I’d either ignored or tried fruitlessly to fix with money, now adding up to make me middle-aged, old, even.

In the old days, my next step would have been something along the lines of Justin’s predictions - buying a Lear jet, maybe, or hosting an extravagant orgy in the condo. But Justin likes flying commercial (first-class, though, obviously) and he looks at me in a way that makes me want to crawl into the ground and die when I start drowning my sorrows in over-the-top sex and drugs, so instead I just stare pathetically at the wall during work and go out to Element every night to have regular sex and drugs.

On my fourth day back, I’m having a Macbeth moment with an unopened bottle of Beam at the kitchen counter when the doorbell rings. I open the door to see Jennifer on the other side, a determined look on her face that reminds me concerningly of Justin.

“Hi!” she says brightly, pushing past me into the condo.

“What are you doing here?”

She turns and smiles at me, just a fraction of her son’s incandescence showing through. “I’m in town for the weekend showing a few places as a favor to a friend. I mentioned it to Justin, and he suggested I stop by, so here I am!”

I glare at her - at Justin, really, but Justin is in France, so she’s the best proxy I have. “That little fucker.”

Still obnoxiously cheery, she laughs and nods. “Don’t I know it. He also said that if you were being ‘weird’, I should, quote, ‘stare at him until he breaks down and says something.’”

She looks right at me, again disconcertingly like Justin, and I turn away.

“Drink?” I say, gesturing to the unopened whiskey bottle.

“No thanks,” she says, and walks over to sit on the couch. “I’m not sure I’ve mentioned recently that I love how you’ve done this place up. The perfect blend of warmth and class.”

“Thanks,” I say. I consider pouring myself a drink, but she might stay longer if I do. I go over to sit across from her in the living room area, and she just keeps looking at me, intensely enough that I can still feel her eyes on me if I look away. Damn Justin and his fucking telepathic abilities.

I stare out the window, trying to decide if I’m actually going to talk with this about my mother-in-law, and then getting distracted by a flash of horror at realizing that I have a mother-in-law.

“I’m a lot older than Justin,” I say finally.

She laughs again, longer this time. “Don’t worry, I know.”

“I’m- I’m getting close to fifty,” I say - look, I said the big scary number out loud! - and glance back at the counter, trying to decide just how much I want a drink. “Justin’s not even forty. We’re in different stages of life right now, and he’s still young and beautiful, and I’m getting new wrinkles and gray hairs every other day.”

Jennifer shrugs. “So? Justin doesn’t care, you know that.”

“He doesn’t right now, but what about one day when I’m eighty and he’s sixty-eight? The gap there is big, and I never want to hold him down when-”

She holds up a hand. “Justin mentioned you might do this, so I’m going to stop you right there.” I roll my eyes, mentally composing a bitchy text message to send to my prick of a husband when she leaves. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s thought about this, Brian?”

I look at her. “Obviously not, but he’s still-”

“He’s discussed this exact topic with me,” she says, “numerous times.”

I didn’t know that, so I don’t have a snappy response. She continues, “You may also have forgotten that you’re not the only one in a relationship with a younger man.”

“Oh,” I say.

She raises her eyebrows. “Yes. Oh. Justin and I have talked about this a lot. I’m thinking that maybe you and him need to do the same.”

I grimace, and she laughs. “I’ll leave you alone now,” she says, standing up, “but think about it, all right?”

She’s almost to the door when I call after her.

“Jennifer-”

She turns around. “Yes?”

I sigh internally. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

Head tilted and half-smiling, she says, “Are you cooking?”

I laugh. “Fuck no. I was planning Thai takeout, and there’s Chardonnay in the fridge.”

Smiling for real again, she walks back over towards the kitchen. “Then by all means, count me in.”

***

I’m in the shower when Justin gets home. He’s done enough of this kind of trip by now that I know his routine, so I listen to him putter around the condo before he comes to join me in the bathroom. 

The first thing I do, after pulling him under the hot spray and kissing him hungrily, is say, “You sent your mother to come check on me? Really?”

He laughs. “She was in town anyway, and I figured that if I couldn’t be there myself for the inevitable meltdown, you might listen to her.”

I start rubbing shampoo through his hair, and he tilts his head back, eyes closed. “She thinks we need to talk more about the age- thing.”

“I know,” Justin says, not opening his eyes. “She’s told me that before.”

I run my thumbs over his cheekbones, study his ever-youthful face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I know why, but it seems like the right question to ask. 

He looks at me. “You hate it when I mention your age.”

I sigh. “Well, maybe it’s time for me to get over myself.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I say, “but I think we should anyway.”

Justin nods and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “Can we do it later, though? Because right now I would really like a welcome-home fuck.”

I grin at him and pull his body right up against mine, pushing two slippery fingers into his ass. He bites his lip and moans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder, and I flutter my fingers inside him to make him yelp and clutch at me. I know he wants me to fuck him, but right now we’ve got nothing but time, so I finger him to a quivering orgasm as he gasps and pleads in my ear, slumping against me when he’s done, held up by my left hand on his waist and my right still hooked inside him.

“By the way,” he murmurs, voice lazy and pleasure-soft, “the salt-and-pepper look is hot as hell on you.”

I look at him, perfect smooth body a clean relaxed curve against the shower wall. “I know,” I say, trying for arrogant. 

“Yeah, right,” he says, and kisses me, softly. “I guess I’ll just have to keep telling you until you can say that for real.”

I press my lips to his cheekbone, warm skin against mine so good that all my earlier worries seem silly, insubstantial, in the face of what I do know that we have. “I guess so,” I tell him, and he smiles.


End file.
